


Color It Up

by SomeBratInAMask



Category: DCU (Comics), Dragon Age II, Hetalia: Axis Powers, Marvel (Comics), Young Avengers
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-04 07:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 9,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6648823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeBratInAMask/pseuds/SomeBratInAMask
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Tumblr drabbles that never quite made it to AO3. Until now.</p><p>Ships/prompts listed in chapter titles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. PruAme: Street Fighter AU

**Author's Note:**

> Dated: October 15, 2014

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rockitsuu asked: Pruame, street fighter au, go!

Heat bursts beneath Gilbert’s skin like the sizzling _pops!_ of boiling water where a fist lands cleanly on his cheek. He grabs the hand in blind instinct that doesn’t fail him, yanking the man with that oppressive size forward, making him fall to his knees on the asphalt. He slams his knuckles down on the man’s neck, wrenching a pained grunt from him until he suddenly lifts Gilbert over his shoulders and suplexes him. Cement rattles his spine like it’s just a guitar string being strum, vibrating his body to a violent melody. He grits his teeth and prays he’s not paralyzed. 

A shadow the shape of a man but the size of a building obscures the streetlights, looming over Gilbert who can’t fucking move, and holy shit, _scrap that,_ he’ll take paralysis gladly so long as this guy doesn’t end him right here. Fat fingers slide through his thin strands of hair before clenching him by the back of his head and jerking him up. 

_“Yo, it’s the police! Get the fuck out of here! The cops! The cops!”_

Gilbert’s skull is dropped unceremoniously to the ground as the crowd chaotically disperses, gamblers running this way and that, spitting cusses. Feet trample of his face and he curls into himself, guarding his head. That’s a good sign against paralysis. Thank you, God. Gilbert’s faith is renewed for the week, _at least._ A foot nearly kicks his crotch, which he senses and grabs the foot in time to trip the guy over and away from his junk.

Make that a month of renewed faith. 

 _“Gilbert!"_ he makes out just barely over the myriad of shouts. _"Gilbert!”_

“Fuck,” Gilbert bites out. He can’t fucking _think_ with all these damn shoes stepping on him, and _fucking hell,_ was that a cleat?

“Gilbert!” sounds again, much closer and terrifyingly familiar.

“Over here!” Gilbert yells, untucking his chin long enough to get his voice out before hurriedly burrowing his face between his elbows. He peers out among the sea of ankles and expensive sneakers and finds two plain brown boots barreling toward him. 

Alfred is tossing people out his way like rag dolls. Jesus Christ, he better not step on him. He almost sticks his hand up to wave before remembering how stupid that would be. Tan hands dip down like a flash of honey-colored lightning, grabbing Gilbert’s shoulders and pulling him upward. Arm around him, Alfred drags Gilbert through the stampede with force and speed Gilbert thinks he could hinder if he actually ran instead of being towed. 

Alfred has Gilbert past the Charybdis of feet rather quickly, tugging him down an alley between two apartments smelling of meth. It’s dark and there’s faint laughter coming from one of the windows, Gilbert never would’ve chosen this route for a safe escape, but he’s also not at liberty to offer an opinion on being street smart. 

Alfred halts their mad dash, swinging Gilbert by his arm to the ground. It’s a weird swing, which spins Gilbert around like a dance and actually plants him gently on his rear. Gilbert leans haggardly against the brick of the apartment. “Dude, we can’t stay here, the cops are here and they’ll check - “

“Nah, you can chill,” Alfred interrupts, almost callous. He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his beautiful red Letterman jacket, smirking with a thousand dollar set of teeth that Gilbert can vouch for with old pictures of brace face Alfred and secret retainers buried in his pillow sheets. Gilbert thinks it’s just another of those awe-inspiring miracles that always seem to follow Alfred that he hasn’t been mugged yet. “There are no cops,” Alfred confesses. “That was me. I knew you were here.” It’s still not a good idea to rest anywhere near this odor, but Gilbert is not in a rush to further enlighten Alfred on what kind of neighborhood this is.

Gilbert lolls his head back, closing his eyes. “How’s that, golden boy?”

“I asked your friends.”

“Great friends.”

Gilbert hears him scoff. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

Gilbert peeks open an eye, raising a brow. “One of us has to be.”

“Or, you know, you could just admit they’re not friends at all, because if they were, they would’ve stopped you.”

“Like they could.”

“Did they try?" 

Gilbert sighs, looking down at his clasped hands between his knees. “Look, I’m making money. I want to get my own place before I graduate.”

"Get a job.”

“Doesn’t pay as much as this does, golden boy,” Gilbert says, smiling.

“Stop that,” Alfred frowns.

“Stop what?”

“Being a condescending dick. I can’t help if I’m better than you.”

Gilbert makes an offended sound.

Alfred’s blue eyes widen. “I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant that my work ethic is, you know, and I’m going to UCLA soon. I’m just, uh.” What a Ken doll. Gilbert could swoon going down on that cock. He’s probably anything but a Ken doll down there. “Do you need to go to the hospital? I won’t tell my parents.”

“Won’t they know when the insurance claim arrives?”

“Oh.” Alfred looks down, lips pursed in thought.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Gilbert jibes. 

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m fine. Just sore.”

“You’re bleeding everywhere.”

“Doesn’t mean anything,” Gilbert dismisses.

Alfred’s eyebrows knit together in concern. “My mom took you in so you would stop doing this.”

“Can take the boy out of the hood, but can’t take the hood out of the boy, I guess,” jokes Gilbert.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I,” Gilbert insists. “I appreciate you guys making my mom feeling better about my lodging while she wears orange, but my life doesn’t stop just because it’s next to your lives. I can’t depend on your parents forever. I’m not even their kid.”

“Yes, you are,” Alfred argues softly. He looks hurt, and he’s not even the victim. Gilbert is. He’s a victim of his deadbeat dad and his jailbird mom and his runaway brother. He’s a victim of his shitty childhood and his frequent evictions and the stench of poverty that always hung over his crap clothes at his uptown school. “You’re their godchild. They have a responsibility.”

“Do I look like a fucking Catholic to you?” Gilbert sneers.

“You look like a piece of shit.”

“I feel like one!”

“Well, good, ‘cause you are one!”

Gilbert and Alfred stare each other down. Alfred cracks, sighing and rubbing at his eyes. “I don’t want to argue religion with you. I just want to take you home.”

Gilbert wants him to take him home, too. Alfred’s home. Alfred’s room and Alfred’s bed, where the blankets are never tucked into the mattress and there’s boxers and socks twisted up in the sheets. He wants to lay in that bed. He wants to cry. He’s so fucking tired of the streets and he wishes they didn’t feel as much like home as they do.

“Then take me home,” Gilbert says simply. 

He wants Alfred to be his home.


	2. RusAme: Monopoly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Ivan squints. It is late, so very late. The Scrabble board is a confusing mash of Russian and American slang. It had started as a joke--Ivan had joked he was better at English. Alfred had taken it personally. Alfred cautiously sets down two tiles, debates the merits of his not-word. Ivan grits his teeth and sets down a Q. Alfred picks up the Russian dictionary nearby. The game drags on. Ivan has to go to work. Doesn't. In the end, Alfred flips the board. The two don't talk for a week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dated: April 12, 2015

It had been months since their last board game together. Ivan had brought home Monopoly, hoping to start anew. Game nights looked so fun in the commercials.

Alfred flinches when he sees the board game, still wrapped in plastic from the store, Ivan’s hands on each side. “Whoa, whoa, big guy,” he laughs nervously, holding up his palms in defense. “What exactly do you think you’re allowing into our house?”

Ivan glances down at the box, then curiously back at Alfred. “Monopoly,” he answers. “You and Mathew talk about it all the time. You have fond childhood memories of it, do you not?”

“I do not,” replies Alfred mechanically. The familiar hollowness is already taking up space in his gut, that resigned terror every time someone recommends playing Monopoly. No one liked Monopoly in his household. They must’ve played it once a month, twice during holiday season.

Everyone hated Monopoly. Matt once tried burning the game. Alfred helped him gather the leaves and oil to throw into the fire pit. They watched in solemn silence as the cardboard lit around the edges before crumpling in on itself, like the shrinking spine of an elderly man withering away.

They both agreed not to tell their parents. Francis and Arthur hated Monopoly just as much as Matt and Alfred, but property was property, and property costed money. If Monopoly had taught them anything, it was that money destroyed the lives most in love with it. And so they swore themselves to secrecy.

The second week of the month after, there it was again in the hallway closet. No new wrapping. The same dog that had been missing for years was gone, as it always had been. Alfred shuddered as his family set it up.

Alfred’s throat feels sick as Ivan slices through the plastic sheath with his nail, lifts the top and unearths the board. “The dog is quite cute,” Ivan observes.

“Yeah.”

“I think I’ll play the dog. You?”

“Moneybags,” is all Alfred can say. He was always moneybags, since he could remember. His eyes flicker forlornly to his player as Ivan organizes the money. He wishes he was playing Jumanji. He wishes a dinosaur would materialize and eat his face off, or an old hunter would blast his brains out with a rifle, or a giant man-eating plant would inject him with poison and digest his body like a fly.

Ivan is the banker. Alfred chokes back that instinctive distrust and suspicion, so innate after years of this game, and recounts the reasons for marrying Ivan. There are none apparent at this moment. Alfred is pretty certain the man he married was not the kind of man who brought home _Monopoly,_ of all games.

Alfred thought he had left that life behind.

_It always comes back. You’ll never finish with the game. The game will never finish with you._

“It’s my turn!” Ivan snaps as Alfred snatches up the die.

“No, it’s mine again.”

“You don’t have a double turn!”

“Nope, I don’t. I have an infinity turn. You see that house on the jail, right next to you?”

Ivan glares at the jail. “Yes. Why do you have a house there?” He moves to remove the house, but Alfred swats his hand away.

“I bought the jail,” Alfred explains.

“Excuse me?”

“I bought the jail,” Alfred repeats. He rattles the die in his hands, tossing them into the box’s upside down lid. Three dots.

“You can’t buy the jail!” Ivan exclaims incredulously.

“Sure can,” dismisses Alfred. “Paid the bank and everything.”

Ivan’s brows furrow and his mouth hangs in bafflement. “I don’t remember this!”

Alfred shrugs. “Not my fault if you’re a shit banker, dude. Anyway, you’re in jail right now. And since I own the jail, I’m deciding you can’t ever leave. That’s why I get infinite turns.”

Ivan stares at Alfred, flabbergasted. Then, “I’m filing for a divorce.”

Alfred snorts, flicks over his moneybags. “Good luck doing that from inside the prison system.”


	3. RusAme: High School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Ivan grinned. The boy--Alfred--had braces. He strolled across the class room, but Alfred saw him coming. Alfred held up a hand. "Before we begin, I'm probably going to punch you." Ivan nodded. "Thhhat's okay," he said, lisping. He was already laughing as the fist swig toward his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dated: April 23, 2015

“Luckily, you’re only missing one tooth - your canine. Your lips hide it, anyway, so it won’t even matter if it’s a different color than your real teeth. Smile for me, big guy?”

Ivan bared his teeth without smiling. The dentist grimaced theatrically, whistling in sympathetic pain. “One of hell of a smile, kid,” said Dr. Zatow, words racing like Olympic runners. “You’ll definitely need braces. That guy really meant it when he said he’d rearrange your face, I guess,” he joked. Ivan’s lips slammed together like doors. He wished Dr. Zatow would stop talking long enough to realize Ivan was glaring.

Ivan met with his orthodontist the next day. A year with braces, because his mother’s insurance covered it, and _no, Vanya, you know we can’t afford Invisalign._

His orthodontist condescended to him. _We can color you brackets, make it look cool._ As if this was cosmetic, and not an unfortunate medical procedure imposed on Ivan on the brink of adulthood. He chose them in a pretty, light pink.

Ivan had been surviving off of yogurt for two days and had just advanced to bread when Alfred decided to plop his tray across Ivan in the cafeteria. “It’th taco day, tho I figured I’d give back to the thchool and thit with you before you wandered off in thearch of friendship victimth,” he announced. He reached into his pocket and set a small blue case on the table. His thumbs went into mouth and removed two sets of retainers, strands of saliva attached to the metal like slimy fingers. He dropped them into the blue case and wiped his spit-wet fingers on his jeans.

Ivan smiled closed-lipped. “It’s a wonder you and your retainers haven’t been banned from the cafeteria, with how unsanitary you are.”

Alfred’s brows furrowed, head cocking. “Braginski,” he said, the taco in his hands leaking red sauce along his palms, down his wrists. “Open your mouth.”

Ivan’s jaw tightened. He lifted his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, speaking behind it. “No. I might catch something.”

Alfred’s hand surged forward and ripped away Ivan’s sandwich. “Say ‘ah.’”

Ivan shook his head. 

“You have fucking braces and I _know_ you do! Now say ‘ah’!” 

“Why should I?”

Alfred rolled his eyes. “Because I want to give you a big fucking kiss.”

“Try it and I’ll make your gums bleed,” Ivan hissed, lips curling over his braces.

Alfred’s mouth stretched into a grin, tossing Ivan’s sandwich back. “Looks I beat you to it, broski.”


	4. HawkSpeed: Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate gets mad and Tommy gets sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dated: July 28, 2015

“Would you stop joking? This is _serious,_ Tommy!” Kate shouted helplessly.

Tommy’s smile collapsed. He sat on her bed in just his boxers, pale hair rumpled and lips chapped.

“It’s like you can’t take anything seriously ever!” continued Kate in frustration, standing over him in her night shirt. “You treat everything as a joke. But all that does is make _you_ look like a joke!”

Tommy was silent, watching her as she felt like ripping her hair out.

 _“Say something, dammit!”_ she yelled.

Tommy shrugged. “What’s there to say? You’re right. I’m a joke and I can’t take anything seriously.”

“Oh my god, do you have _any_ self-esteem? Any whatsoever?”

Tommy flinched, eyes downcast.

“And then you wonder why every girl you meet treats you like shit, and why you can’t get anyone to see the good in you. Because you never _show_ them the good in you!”

Tommy stood quietly, picking up his shirt from the carpet of Kate’s bedroom. He began putting it on.

“Oh, this is _great,”_ Kate said sarcastically. “Now you’re going to get dressed and run like a bat out of hell, because that’s all you’re good at, running away.”

Tommy’s paced quickened and he had pants on, shoes secured, and presence out of the house in a flash.

“Fuck!” Kate swore, turning around and kicking her dresser. She pressed her fists to her forehead, sinking to the floor.


	5. Gen: Billy, Doctor Strange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Billy's mentor is Doctor Strange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dated: July 28, 2015

Billy laid on the grass after training. Doctor Strange laid beside him. A half hour had passed, staring up at the night sky outside Doctor Strange’s lair. Billy’s panting had subsided.

“Soon, you’ll be able to do amazing things without a chant,” said Doctor Strange.

Billy rolled his head, looking curiously at him. “Like this?” he asked. He gazed back up, gently blowing his lips as if to whistle. A stream of magic flew into the sky, becoming a butterfly which shimmered blue as it fluttered above them.

“Oh,” Doctor Strange breathed appreciatively.

Billy’s mouth widened and out came a blast of magic which formed a translucent dragon. Its long body slithered across the stars and it opened its maw, crushing the butterfly between its rows of glittering teeth.

 _“Oh,”_ Doctor Strange repeated, less pleasantly.

Billy laughed, grinning fantastically.


	6. BillyTeddy: Awkward Pillow Talk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dated: August 1, 2015

Billy stretched out on the bed, turning toward Teddy. He skimmed his finger along Teddy’s collarbone. “You know,” said Billy, “I’m pretty powerful.”

Teddy made a humming noise. “I think we may have covered that.”

“Like, if I wanted to,” Billy wiggled a bit and folded his arms behind his head, “I could have kids.”

Teddy’s expression became puzzled. “Do you want kids?”

Billy shrugged. “I don’t know. But if I wanted to have them, I could.”

“So, you could,” Teddy hesitated, “give birth?”

Billy paused. Okay, this had taken a weird turn. “Well, I guess, that _might_ work. But if either of us were to give birth, wouldn’t it be more logical for _you_ to do it?”

Teddy scratched his chest. “What do you mean?”

Billy laughed lightly. “Come on, Tee, can’t you just change your - ” Billy’s eyes flickered between Teddy’s face and the half of his body covered by sheets. “You know.”

Teddy grimaced. “We’re not really, uh, considering pregnancy, are we?” he asked nervously.

Billy shook his head rapidly. “No! No, god no, neither of us,” he assured.

Teddy nodded along. “Right, yeah! Cool. Cool.”

They looked away from each other awkwardly.


	7. BillyTeddy: Nuclear Finger Tips

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dated: August 24, 2015

****

The man couldn’t remember what it was like, being a kid. Was he like these ones, full of hope and self-righteousness? Ready to conquer evil and preserve the goodness of humanity?

A white blast whips through the air, hits him in the gut and sends him skidding across the pavement. His head slams against the concrete and he feels pain all over his body and for a moment all he can hear is a numb ringing in his ears.

He drags his eyes open, sees a kid high up in the sky. His eyes shine blue and he’s ethereal with his feet pointed perfectly like a ballet dancer. His arms are lean with muscle, the tips of his fingers nuclear.

 _No,_ he thinks. _I was never like these kids._

He supports himself on his elbow, crawling away from the battle even though his head feels like he’s suspended in water. Heavy, sluggish, disorientated. Everything is blue.

He finds himself an alley to rest behind. He is alone long enough to admit it was a bad idea, singling out Hulkling. It was a bad idea to use him as a publicity stunt, to video tape the entire torture. That god kid, the one floating in the sky, he was a GPS. And they found him, as well as the rest of his team. And now the building was incinerated, half his men stuck with arrows, the other half punched out, and he was hiding somewhere near a dumpster from the odor.

Time was hard to gauge. Things were less watery, but his skull was now an anchor weighing him down. Hard to lift. He didn’t even hear the footsteps. He wonders how far away he would’ve had to detect them to get away in time.

Hulkling towers over him, stronger and more intimidating than he had been, crumpled in that chair and half-conscious. He’s healed completely. His face is passive, no tension to his frame. It’s nearly foreign to him, after hours of seeing clenched fists and teeth.

Behind him comes up the god kid. The one with nuclear hands and a built-in GPS. His lips are peeled in a snarl, looking down on him. He wants to shrivel in on himself, but instead he scrambles forward. He locks his hands together, like he’s praying. “Please, don’t kill me. Please, I’m so sorry,” he grovels. He’s shaking so hard and _oh, god, I’m so sorry, no, no, no._

“I won’t,” the god kid says. The fury melts from his face, his eyelids drooping half-way.

The man exhales deeply, relief making him shake hard. He starts to grin when the boy talks again. “He will,” he finishes. Hulkling straightens, sucking in a breath. His eyes break away from the man, staring at the wall of the alley instead. “What,” the man says brokenly, crawling closer on his knees. “What do you mean, I, I’m sorry, I - ” The boy’s hand brushes along Hulkling’s arm before drifting off like a breeze. He turns around and leaves. Hulkling swallows, fists tightening then releasing. He steps forward, eyes now trained on him. The man sobs.


	8. CassieNate: (Not) Soul Mates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cassie is 14 and a romantic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dated: September 28, 2015

It’s the tail-end of summer when New York gets hit by a heat wave. 100 degrees and Nate can see it in the air, the way the light ripples and makes everything feel like a Salvador Dali painting. Kate didn’t plan on needing central air conditioning, so Bishop Publishing is a miserable steam bath of kids who will put up with anything if it means not going home.

Nate escaped to the basement, where it’s cooler by fifteen degrees and quieter by five less people. He has his over-shirt shucked to the concrete, but he’s stubbornly still in his tank top because Cassie followed him down here and he doesn’t want her to see his chest. It’s not muscular like Eli and Teddy’s, or lean like Tommy and Billy’s. It’s undefined with visible tan lines and some fat that peeks out at the belly.

They’re sitting on the floor, Cassie cross-legged and Nate hunched over the detached arm of his Iron Lad suit. He’s got a panel open and a screwdriver wedged in it, tinkering with the neuro-muscular response. Cassie is leaning toward him, watching him mess around with the tech. She’s wearing jean shorts and a green plaid shirt cuffed to her elbows and unbuttoned over her white tank top. She’s sporting piggy-braids, but the humidity has made them frizz and she tucks a stray stand behind her ear. She draws in a breath. “You ever, like, think about soul mates?” she asks suddenly.

Nate glances up from the arm. “You mean in fiction?”

“No,” Cassie giggles, shaking her head like Nate is a puppy. She punches his arm lightly. “I’m talking about you and me. Soul mates.”

Nate scrunches his brows. “Cassie,” he says, concerned, “you do know soul mates are a myth, right?”

Cassie seems to take a couple seconds to absorb this. Then she pulls back and Nate immediately backtracks. “I mean, I’m sure we’re as close as it gets –”

“I think they’re real,” Cassie argues. Her voice is soft and her face is less open now. She looks confused, or conflicted. Her fingers drum on her bare thigh, eyes focused on the ground. Nate doesn’t know what to say to that, so he goes back to working on the arm.


	9. Nohmmy: Dramatic Exit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noh wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dated: October 14, 2015

A cool draft exhales on Noh’s leg when Tommy kicks off the covers. “You don’t have to leave _every_ night, you know,” Noh says drowsily. Tommy had fallen asleep as they talked for hours. Noh had actually thought this would be the time he stayed.

Noh hears Tommy swings his legs onto the floor. “Not big on sleepovers,” he responds.

That hits a nerve, the flippancy. Noh rolls over. He’s met with Tommy’s bare back, pale with soft muscle definition beneath the skin. Noh thinks briefly of tracing the knots of Tommy’s spine with his finger. Instead he makes a last-ditch effort to rile him up. Maybe make him care more. “Is this your abandonment issues coming through? Is that what this is, some childhood fear of never being loved? Because I can assure you - ”

Tommy turns his head toward him and sneers. “Oh, go suck a dick, you ass.” With blurring speed, he grabs his shirt from the end of the bed and zips out the door. Noh props himself on his elbows, staring blankly after.

Before Noh can process anything, though, Tommy is back in the room, searching under the bed. He retrieves a pair of jeans and stands up. As he finishes dressing, his eyes flicker to Noh. “I forgot my pants,” he says in explanation. It’s awkward and Tommy has this defiant tilt to his chin, daring him to acknowledge it’s awkward.

Noh accepts the challenge. “Bummer. Your dramatic exit is ruined now.”

Tommy scoffs. “I don’t need a dramatic exit to leave you,” he jabs. Then he proves how he right he is.

Sleep doesn’t come as easily to Noh after that. He hopes, beneath that airy bravado, Tommy is finding it tough too.


	10. BillyTeddy/HawkSpeed: Arcade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang go to an arcade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dated: October 14, 2015

“Stop button-smashing!” Billy exclaimed, fingers darting across the controller as he tried to defend against Kate’s spam punches in Mortal Kombat.

“No!” she shouted. “I don’t have time to figure out the fancy combos!” Her face was crazed and some of her hair had found its way in her mouth. Strobe lights from the arcade’s ceiling passed over her periodically, lighting her skin in an alternating green and purple.

“Don’t panic!” Cassie advised, leaning against the Dance Dance Revolution. Tommy stood next to her, dumping a cane of powered sugar down his throat. Pink dust coated his lips.

“Panicking!” Kate squeaked.

Billy’s character blasted Kate’s with a fireball, laying Sonya Blade flat. “Shit, what buttons did I press?” He tried emulating the pattern as Sonya Blade recovered and came at Sindel with more punches.

“Actually, I play Sonya pretty often,” Teddy admitted. He had his arms crossed against his chest, watching the game beside Billy. “Try left, right, circle. That should be enough.”

Sonya Blade did a cartwheel, wrapping her legs around Sindel’s waist and body-slamming her from upside-down. Billy’s health dropped detrimentally, just a sliver of green left on the bar. “Tee, what the hell?” he demanded. “You’re _my_ boyfriend! That’s a total violation of trust!”

Kate cackled and Billy flew Sindel into the air and kicked Sonya Blade’s head back.

“I’m sorry,” Teddy apologized sheepishly.

“If you want, I could give you some tips and even out the boyfriend-double-crossing ratio,” Tommy offered. He wiggled his phone emphatically. “Got Google pulled up.”

Kate suddenly froze, controller lowering as her gaze slid toward Tommy. Very coolly, she spoke, “Tommy, I will be genuinely angry if you do that.” Billy tried to figure out some moves as his focus switched between Kate and the game.

Tommy obediently slipped his phone back into his pocket.

“Oh, come on! That’s not fair! Tommy, please?” Billy begged.

“Nope, sorry.” Tommy held up in hands. “I looked into her eyes and saw only death and destruction.”

Billy’s jaw dropped. He targeted Kate. “My boyfriend sold me out! Yours should too!”

“Invest in a proper trainer,” Kate quipped.

She finished the round with two spam punches.


	11. BillyTeddy: Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rewrote the first scene in Gillen’s Young Avengers, when Billy gets upset over Teddy’s secret super hero-ing. It didn’t really jive with me, how Heinberg would’ve written their fight, so I tried my hand at it. Hopefully a little more IC? I think so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dated: October 19, 2015

“I fell in love with a super hero, okay? And I’m not going to sit around while the city is being terrorized so I can waste my life on you!” Teddy shouted. His words crashed between them like a caved-in ceiling. He clasped his hands over his mouth. “Oh, god. Billy - ”

“Is that how you’ve been feeling?” Billy said quietly, eerily.

“No,” Teddy pleaded. “Oh, god, no, that’s not what I meant.”

“Yes, it is,” Billy insisted plainly.

“No, it just came out wrong - ”

“Teddy, it’s fine. I’m glad you let me know, because now I can fix this.”

“Oh, no,” responded Teddy automatically. “Billy, please, don’t do that.”

Billy narrowed his eyes. “You think I’m a fuck-up.”

Teddy blanched. _“What?”_ Teddy shook his head. “Of course I don’t.”

“No, you do.” Billy nodded, considering this. This situation was warped - Billy composed while Teddy was frayed, the threading in the tips of his toes to the pads of his fingers coming undone. Billy glanced at his feet. “Look,” he reasoned, “it’s not like I’m _unaware_ of the differences between us.”

Teddy couldn’t seem to get his bearings right. He had let himself lose control and now everything was messy. "What differences?“

Billy looked at Teddy like he was stupid. He motioned to himself. "Uh, skinny nerd who can barely hit the hammer at those carnival games?” He pointed at Teddy. “Naughty school boy rendition of Chip and Dale’s?”

Agitation scratched at Teddy’s neck, an impatient itch. “Smoke and mirrors,” he dismissed.

“Does it matter?” Billy asked. “Besides, if it isn’t physical, it’s academic and athletic. You get A’s and basketball trophies, I get C’s and a comfy seat on the bleachers. Plus, you’re a _genuinely good person.”_

Teddy raised his eyebrows. “And you’re not?”

A smile tugged at Billy’s lips. “Not like you. You run into burning buildings to rescue dolls for little girls. I set cathedrals on fire at weddings.”

Teddy rubbed his face. “I didn’t intend for this to become a testament to how you fail as a person, because I happen to think you _don’t.”_

"I know you don’t. And trust me, I’m not trying to turn this around so it’s the Great Anti-Billy Hate Debate.” Billy’s hands chopped the air decisively. “This is constructive. This is me telling you that things are going to get better. That I am going to be a better boyfriend. _Fuck,_ I’m going to be the _best_ boyfriend. I promise.”

Billy walked swiftly up to Teddy, grabbing his face and pressing a kiss to his lips. Teddy stood still with his arms crossed, not feeling up to it. Billy backed away uncertainly, but still smiled. He gave a light punch to Teddy’s shoulder. “Go to bed. When you wake up, I swear things will be different.”

Teddy didn’t want overnight miracles. He also wanted with all his might to end the conversation that had started with calling Billy a _waste._ He sucked in a breath and attempted a smile. He ran his fingers through Billy’s dark hair, felt like crumpling when Billy laid his cheek in his palm. “Try not to bring the house down, alright?” he teased.

Billy dipped a kiss on his wrist. “Best boyfriend, starting tonight, remember?”

“Right. I’ll keep that in mind.” Teddy let his hand fall. “Good night,” he said, and walked toward the door.


	12. Gen: Teddy's Schedule

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teddy, Eli, and Nate run into each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dated: October 30, 2015

Eli and Nate were meandering through Brooklyn after Eli complained about gas and needing to cut the joyride short. Eli had a busted wrist and Nate a short-circuited suit from a battle they got sucked into yesterday, so Billy had convinced them to cancel training today. Nate still couldn’t shake the feeling of anxiety, of Must-Do-Something-Must-Get-Better, but it was admittedly nice. Walking around, eating cheap food, making stupid conversation with an actual, real-life friend. There weren’t many of those in the year 3000.

Nate was about to make a joke around a chunk of half-chewed hotdog when Eli elbowed him. “Hey, isn’t that Tee?”

Nate followed Eli’s gaze. Sure enough, Teddy had his backpack slung over his shoulder and the same Varsity jacket he always wore (or “flaunted,” according to Eli). Nate quickly swallowed his food and waved. “Tee! Come here!”

Teddy glanced up, breaking out into a smile and jogging up. “Hey, what are you guys doing here?”

“Encroaching on your territory,” Eli quipped, face stoic.

Teddy pointed at him, a happy curl to his lips. “Stay away from my customers. I run a solid business.”

Nate scrunched his nose. “You’re a businessman?” He took another bite of his hotdog.

Teddy laughed softly. “No drug dealers in the future?”

“Guess the government _is_ around for a reason,” Eli remarked.

“Oh, there are,” Nate dismissed.

Eli shook his head. “Fucking knew it.”

  
“Ah,” Nate sounded. “You should hang with us. We’re not doing anything, but like, in a fun way.”

Teddy’s smile drooped. “I wish I could.” Eli rolled his eyes, but Teddy said, “No, really. I got practice.”

“For basketball?” asked Eli. “How? We usually have training at 6.” Eli read his watch. “It’s 3.”

Nate’s eyebrows knitted together. “How long does basketball practice go for?”

“A while.” Teddy grimaced. “I actually have to leave early sometimes to meet up with you guys for training. I think Coach hinted last week he’s contemplating revoking my Varsity status.”

“Can he do that?” Eli questioned.

Teddy shrugged. “Not really up to finding out, honestly.”

“Teddy,” Nate said seriously. “Do you rest before you come to training, or do you just - come straight from practice every day?”

“Straight from practice.”

Eli’s face contorted into something vaguely freaked-out. “Do you, like, get any sleep? You got homework, don’t you?”

“Four hours, usually. Weekends are easier. And I do homework after training.”

Nate admired Teddy for it, but that was unwise. “You can’t work 24/7. I need you at full strength if we’re ever going to defeat Kang.”

“Can Kang not come up in _every_ conversation with you?” Eli requested.

“He’s a major threat!”

“I get rest, Nate, I promise,” Teddy assured.

Eli snorted. “Yeah, how else would he have so many obnoxious inside jokes with Billy?”

“Oh, good. At least both you and Billy find the time to relax.”

“Ugh, I _wish._ I’m so exhausted after practice and training, but Billy is a night owl and by the time we’re alone he just wants to - ” Teddy abruptly stopped, jaw snapping shut. 

“Holy shit,” Eli repeated.

Teddy pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry. I must be more tired than I thought. Let’s just… pretend this conversation never happened.”

“I can do that,” Eli agreed, nodding.

Teddy checked his phone. “Oh, I really need to head on over to the meet,” he said hurriedly. “See you - hopefully - tomorrow. Um, later.” Teddy started away, a little too fast.

Eli and Nate looked at each other in solidarity. Nate bit his hotdog.

“Actually, I’m kind of glad he doesn’t have a social life,” Nate explained, enunciation garbled. “It means he’s not just avoiding me because I’m a loser. Is that bad?”

Eli shook his head, starting up their walk. “I’m still pretending we never saw Teddy.”

“Huh.”


	13. Nohmmy: Curls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noh wakes up again. To more pleasant results this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dated: October 31, 2015

Tommy promised to stay that night, even as he got out of bed. Noh listened intently, tracking Tommy’s steps from the bedroom to the shower to the hair dryer. Noh stayed on the pillow, fingers drumming on the blanket draped across his chest.

“Alright.” Tommy reentered, immediately heading toward Noh’s dresser and sliding out the top drawer. His bare skin was white as bone in the moonlight spilling from the window. “My presence, as requested,” he spoke, grabbing a clean pair of Noh’s boxers and sliding them on. He crawled back into bed.

His hair was curly.

Noh tugged on one of his curls. “You’ve got curly hair,” he pointed out, voice soft as to fit the quiet of the night.

“Yeah,” Tommy murmured, eyes closed. “There’s more of that, if you go down south.”

“You flat iron your hair.”

“Mm.”

“Why?”

Tommy sighed and rolled inward, head just _almost_ resting in the nook of Noh’s arm, _almost_ close enough to cuddle. “Because I’m the pretty one,” he mumbled. “Billy’s the mess with bad hair days and frizz.”

“I don’t think Billy is _that_ bad.”

Tommy peeked one eye at him. “Have you seen his eyebrows? They’re becoming one massive caterpillar.”

Noh thought about that. “Come to think of it, I don’t recall ever seeing his eyebrows. His bangs are usually covering them.”

“Yeah, it’s so no one notices his giant ears.”

“Shouldn’t you two have the same ears?”

“We _should._ But if you pay attention to the details, I’m the better package.”

“Oh, you mean he’s small down there?”

“That, too. I mean, probably, anyway. I’ve never actually measured, but I’m confident - ” Tommy yawned, “ - I’d win that round.”

Noh hummed and looped an arm around Tommy’s back, pulling him into the nook of his arm. “I think you’re cute with curls.”

“Of course, I am. I’m cute in everything.”

“You’re the cutest in my sheets.”

Tommy didn’t reply, but he let out a breathy laugh and even nuzzled in.


	14. FenHawke: Some Things Are Better Than Wine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dated: November 28, 2015

The door was already unlocked when Hawke tested the doorknob of Fenris’ mansion. “I’ve gotten a lead on Danarius’ whereabouts,” Hawke announced, not even a foot past the threshold yet. He found that, with most of his friends, news was best delivered quick and with the possibility of bloodshed.

Fenris’ head poked out of the second floor main room. He sauntered down the stairs, a loose grip on a half-full wine bottle.

“I saw you coming through the window,” Fenris explained. He walked slowly, each foot a punctuation on the marble floors, like he had to think it through.

“Which one?” asked Hawke. “I’ll look for your head peeking out next time. Maybe we can develop a code system. We’ll use hand gestures and eye-blinks to communicate it’s me before you even answer the door.”

Fenris finally reached him. Hawke could smell the alcohol in his breath. Fenris, for his part, looked only slightly exasperated. “Why would we do that? I can see it’s you by your face.”

Hawke shrugged. “Sometimes I wear hoods.”

“Ah, right,” Fenris responded in stride. “Who knows whose neck I could be snapping, what with all the clothing you wear in winter.”

_“Exactly.”_

Fenris took a long swig of the wine, then draped his arm around Hawke’s shoulders. Hawke eyed the tipped opening of the bottle warily, willing the liquid not to pour onto his robes.

Fenris breathed and it smelled like they were in The Hanged Man. Hawke cleared his throat. “Did you hear me when I came in? I’ve got some information about where we can locate Danarius without his knowledge.”

Fenris dropped the bottle, the sound of shattering glass making Hawke wince. Fenris weaved his fingers through Hawke’s hair, almost lackadaisically, and cocked his head curiously. White hair fell into his eyes. “Why do you insist on reminding me of my cat-and-mouse game with slavers when I’m drunk? It’s most,” Fenris’ fingers stilled in Hawke’s hair, “unpleasant.”

“Trust me, it’s not planned bad timing. You’re just often drunk.” Hawke uncurled Fenris’ arms from his body. His grasp slid to Fenris’ hands, where he interlocked their fingers.

Fenris stared at their hands. “And yet, I’m never drunk enough.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Well, where is he?”

Hawke grimaced. “Well, a couple places, and quite possibly none of them. But it’s the best we’ve got.”

Fenris made a noise of disappointment. “I had imagined it was nowhere close enough that I could wrench my fist inside his chest within the next few days, anyway.”

Hawke hummed. “Probably not, but I’ve found hope to always be a motivator.”

Fenris’ face did that rare thing where it softened. His smile was small, but visible and sweet. “I don’t think I’ll ever be more grateful to have met someone as I am for you, Hawke. I - don’t always understand you,” he confessed. A smirk played at his lips. “But you make the effort worthwhile.”

Hawke leaned in, left a brush of a kiss on Fenris’ forehead. “I try to keep in mind that if I’m going to be an enigma, I best be an intriguing one. Otherwise no one will want to solve the great mystery of me and I’ll just exist as one sad, ignored puzzle with scattered pieces people step on and pick off their shoes before flicking into the sewers.”

“A tragic mental image, if there ever was one,” agreed Fenris. His hands left Hawke’s to press against his chest, slide down to his stomach and rest at his belt. His voice was a whisper now. “There’s more wine in my bedroom, if you’d like to join me.”

“You know,” mused Hawke, guiding Fenris nearer by a palm on his lower back, “I think I might want to be sober for this.”


	15. Gen: Fenris vs. Danarius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris kills Danarius on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dated: November 11, 2015

Danarius applauded, each clap punctuating the tension between them. "Bravo, well-done. You made it to me," he congratulated, sounding sincerely pleased. His long robes draped to his boots, thick and costing more money than Fenris had ever owned. Fenris wriggled his toes, felt the stone and pebble beneath the callouses of his naked feet.

Fenris' lips peeled back over his teeth. "You are impressively unshaken, for a man stripped of his armor," he sneered. "Look around you, Danarius. I've killed every last layer of your protection."

Danarius' hands dropped to his side. "You wear blood better than the finest silk."

Fenris stalked toward him, tilting his head up so he could match gazes. "Stop playing," he ordered.

"Who's playing? You've come so far, even I must recognize the sobriety of this accomplishment. Well, now you've got me. What do you plan to do?" asked Danarius. 

"What do you think?" Fenris' angered flared. "I've come to kill you. Don't act as if you are not afraid," he spoke dangerously, "when I have torn through bodyguard after bodyguard as you ran like a coward across the nation just to escape me."

"And as I said, you got me," Danarius said simply. "What do you expect to come from this? A great dual, magister versus weapon? Are you unaware of my abilities, Fenris? That's an unpromising position for you, and you've been in many." 

Fenris wanted to rip Danarius' skin from his face, just so he never had to see that smug twist of the lips again. "From this distance, I could plunge my fist into your chest faster than any spell."

Danarius spread his hands out. "And yet, you haven't." Gently, he tucked a strand of Fenris' hair behind his ear. Fenris flinched, but didn't back away, only looking down. "Why is that?" 

Fenris’s eyes snapped up, flashing. With a fury he snatched the ax from his back and doubled backward, clearing enough distance to bring the blade crashing down on Danarius’ neck. Sick, snapping noises sounded as his head fell from his shoulders. The body followed quickly, landing against the floorboards with a heavy thump.   
Fenris crouched to his knees, inspecting the blood that gushed from both Danarius’ halves. “Well,” he announced, guttural in the thick silence of the emptied tavern, “if I was seeking closure, I suppose that was it.” He stood, readjusting his ax and exiting the building into the cool night of Lowtown. 


	16. Gen: Nightwing's Patrol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightwing saves the day, per usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dated: December 12, 2015

Nightwing was sitting on a rooftop, legs swung over the edge when he heard a shriek two blocks over. He was on his feet before his next breath, leaping across buildings toward the crisis. The screaming didn’t end, but the closer he got, the clearer he distinguish the sobs punctuating them. 

He swallowed the dryness in his throat. It sounded like a kid. 

He got to a rooftop overlooking a sidewalk. A man in a black baseball cap was closing a van door. The windows were tinted. Nightwing crawled halfway down the building, leveraging himself with window sills, before jumping the rest of the way down. 

Once on the pavement, it took him half a second to cover the space. He yanked the back of the man’s collar, punching him once. He skidded backwards and fell on the ground. Nightwing tore open the door, undid the seat belts, and hefted the lone bundle of gagged child out of the van. A second man in the driver’s seat shouted. 

Nightwing rounded the van. By the time the driver had the window rolled down and gun pointing out, Nightwing was ready to kick the weapon and sending it flying into the empty road. The driver rolled the window up. 

Nightwing retrieved the gun before returning to the van. He politely knocked his knuckles on the window. “Open the door,” he requested. The engine started. 

He smashed the glass with the butt of the gun, unlocked the door, and set the weapon on the car hood. The driver wasn’t buckled in. “This is why you should always buckle up,” Nightwing scolded. 

With two hands, he managed to hoist the large, squirming man out of the car. Not giving him the chance to fight back, he rammed his head against the side of the car. The guy went limp. 

Nightwing let him slump to the ground as he rummaged through the front seats. He found a bag of zip ties and grabbed it, setting to work on restraining the kidnappers. Once they were finished, he whipped out his cell and dialed 911. He balanced the phone on his shoulder, using his hands to undo the zip ties around the child’s ankles and wrists. He reported the situation for police pick-up. 

Finally, he looked at the little girl. Her hair was was short and beaded in soft blues and whites. A butterfly barrette clipped the bottom of each braid. Her big brown eyes were glassy with tears and she was hyperventilating through her nose. Her hot pink jeans were stained in the front. 

These were the worst nights, because kidnappings were rarely isolated. And however many they planned tonight, it was a two-person job. 

He gently removed the gag, tossing it into the backseat. “Hey,” he said softly, “how are you feeling, kiddo? They hurt you?“ 

She rubbed her wrists, where the plastic had just barely chafed, but shook her head no. The beads sounded like wind chimes. 

“What’s your name?“ 

"Bebe,” she answered, voice still a little shaky. 

He was kneeling at eye-level. “I’m sorry that happened, Bebe,” he told her. “But you won’t ever see them again. I promise.” Bebe gazed warily at the first man, tied up and unconscious. “Do you believe me?” Nightwing asked. 

She hesitated, but then nodded her head firmly. 

Nightwing smiled. “Good. What happened to your parents?" 

Bebe used her hands as she spoke. It was adorable. "My dad was supposed to pick me up from dance practice,” she explained, pointing in the vague direction of where the studio might be. “But he was, like, really-super late. So I was gonna walk home. But then,” her eyes caught on the van and she trailed off. 

There had been traffic on a nearby route from 5 to 7 tonight. It was 8 now.

“Do you know your parents’ numbers?”

Bebe slowly shook her head, looking ashamed. “I keep forgetting,” she admitted. “You don’t have a phone?" 

"Dad was supposed to get me one after dance." 

The worst part for parents, he would guess: the small breaches sickos find in your child’s armor. The almosts and what-ifs that haunt you. The tiniest reasons you can beat yourself up for, because all it took was traffic. 

"I’m going to take you to the police station, okay, Bebe? They can help us find your parents.” Nightwing said. “Do you trust me to walk you there?" 

Bebe nodded. "Of course. You’re pretty.” Nightwing laughed, burying his face in his hands briefly. 

“Alright, I’ll give you that. Try not to follow that guideline when you get older though,” he warned. He stuck out his hand. Bebe took it. When she smiled, her dimples flashed.


	17. Gen: Wally & Dick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dated: December 29, 2015

“Found a thermometer!” Dick announced, brandishing something in his hands as he waltzed into the room. With great effort, Wally managed to lift his head and look at him. He was sitting at the end of Dick’s bed, straitjacketed in layers of blankets. His eyes felt like they were bugging from his sockets and he was one breath away from his forehead exploding in a mess of snot. “I usually have it on the sink, but I must’ve knocked it into the trash. I probably should organize my bathroom, but I never have the _time,”_ Dick babbled.”

“Augh,” attempted Wally.  He stretched his neck from the mass of blankets consuming him. He felt more like a turtle than a human at the moment.

“You’re so Rudolph the Red-Nosed Ginger right now,” Dick commented.

“I feel like a turtle,” Wally told him. He almost went cross-eyed, gazing at the thermometer. It was hovering about his tongue when he registered what it actually was and shrieked. He jerked his head backward. “That’s not a thermometer, you asshole!”

“What,” said Dick, blankly.

“That’s a freaking pregnancy test!”

Dick retracted the stick and scrutinized it. “That makes no sense. Why would I have a pregnancy test in my trash can?”

“Oh, my god,” wailed Wally. He furiously wiped at his tongue. “You just put _dried pee_ in my mouth. Oh, my god.”

“Oh, my god,” Dick murmured. His eyes were widening as he continued to stare in terror. “But I always use condoms,” he denied. He suddenly shoved the pregnancy test back in Wally’s face. “Is this positive?” he demanded.

“I don’t know, why not just _deep-throat me with it and see if I get an answer?”_ He wacked Dick’s arm away.

Dick wrinkled his nose. “Don’t be vulgar.”

“I just ate pee! I’m having a crisis!”

“Hello, having-a-crisis, _I’m dad!”_ Dick yelled, throwing his hands in the air.

“Just call Babs!”

Dick looked at him like he was crazy. “Are you crazy? What if it’s hers?”

Wally’s eyebrows furrowed, tongue hanging out. “Is there another potential baby mama?”

“No, of course not! But maybe, like, someone snuck in and - ”

“Popped a squat and discarded the evidence in your bathroom?”

Dick grimaced. “Stranger things have happened.”

“Yeah, but usually they have to do with the world ending. Do you still have my guest toothbrush here?” Wally made to stand up, but Dick snatched his blanket cocoon and Wally tumbled onto the mattress like a helpless, futile worm.

“We need to find the instructions,” he said gravely.

Wally glared up at him. “I’m sick and just had your girlfriend’s urine on my tongue. I’m done for the day. F.Y.I., never coming here again.”

Dick’s eyes wandered across the room. “I think that’s what Babs is thinking, too.”

Wally groaned.


	18. HawkSpeed: Target Practice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dated: January 17, 2016

Kate tucked a lock of hair that had fallen from her ponytail behind her ear. Billy’s energy blasts ripped through the stuffy air of the training room and bounced off the walls in soundwaves. Noh was cackling somewhere as he sparred with Teddy - a quick glance around and, ah, he was racing around Teddy in circles. Hulkling couldn’t land a punch. He looked caught between annoyed and amused, crossing his arms and waiting for an opportunity to trip him up.

“Hey, you go any faster and you’ll suffocate him!” America warned. She was standing by a punching bag, white t-shirt soaked in sweat and thick hair a tangled mess framing her face.

“Good plan!” shouted Noh. That’s when dragonesque wings sprouted from Teddy’s back and slammed Noh across the room.

Kate smiled. She wasn’t petty enough to administer pain to an ex-boyfriend; but she could at least enjoy when someone else did it _for_ her. She turned to the bullseye, adjusting her bow and preparing to release the arrow.

A breeze brushed her neck. “Is that Cupid’s arrow you’re pointing? Because I think you struck my heart,” said Tommy.

“Oh, my god.” Kate laughed and shook her head. “Do you ever hear the things that come out of your mouth?”

“Of course, I’m very clever.”

Kate rolled her eyes at him. “You’re ridiculous.” She kept her bow in the air, but shifted her attention slightly to Tommy.

He grinned. “Yeah, I know. You should cut me some slack, Bishop. It’s not easy talking to you.”

Kate prickled. “Why’s _that?”_

Tommy spread out his palms. “‘Cause you’re awesome?” He offered a small smile. “If I’m gonna’ screw up talking to you, I may as well make you laugh while I do it.”

She felt her cheeks redden. Her heart sparked and she accidentally let go of the arrow. It zinged past the target board and -

Noh yelped.

She shot Noh in the ass.

Kate’s entire face was red now. She set her bow down. “I’m so sorry!” she called out.

“Oh, god,” Noh cried. Teddy hovered over him, grimacing as he tried to calm him.

Tommy cackled, features lit up like the city.

“Oh, _shut up,”_ she snapped.

Still grinning, he looked at her. “Oh, come on. You have to admit, that was pretty funny.”

Kate glanced back to where Teddy was attempting to remove the arrow from Noh’s rear-end. He was acting particularly dramatic, flailing and whining. Kate bit her lip. “Okay, yeah, it is _very_ funny.”

Tommy’s smile was huge. “See?” he said. “You’re awesome.”


	19. Patridgy: Eli/David

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> don't judge me

David counts down the seconds in his head. _60, 59, 58 … 3, 2, 1._ He glances at Eli, slouched against the loveseat, arms crossed over his chest as he watches the movie. His lower lip juts out in that perennial pout of his. Restart. _60, 59 …_ David isn’t sure if he’s always angry, or if that’s just his resting face. He’s fairly certain Eli would pick a fight if he asked, though.

David shifts a bit, checks his watch. In 50 seconds, he’ll kiss Eli. The screen lights up in the dark of his living room. Maybe it’s too dark in here. Maybe he should’ve kept a lamp on. Set the mood. The lamp is next to Eli, though, and David doesn’t want to ruin any hypothetical mood by asking him to turn on a light.

 _6, 5, 4, 3, 2 …_ Restart. Eli has perked up, probably without noticing, eyes glued to the screen. Something important is happening. Damn. A movie date was a poor decision. Should’ve gone with making dinner together. Teddy had given him that idea. David thought it was romantic, and it had been a very _Teddy_ idea, though perhaps not a very Eli one.

David sighs, completely by accident. It’s easy to forget himself when the room is so dark and no one is watching him. But Eli picks up on it and casts a sideways glance at him. He looks suspicious, or annoyed - a very Eli expression. David smiles despite himself. Only for a second, though.

“What?” Eli asks, like David’s sigh is a formal complaint.

As it is, the sigh is more an informal complaint than anything. But questions demands answers, and David demands some proof this is a date after all. Unfortunately, he’s at a loss for words beneath Eli’s glare. That’s nothing new. David has to improvise. He twisted his body around to face Eli, then slowly places his hand over where Eli’s wrist rests on his knee. When Eli doesn’t shake him off, David squeezes his wrist and leans in. Eli’s lips are warm and just a little wet and soft. David brushes his fingers behind David’s ear and cradles the back of his head. Eli kisses back, and it’s sweeter than David ever imagined Eli could be.

When David pulls back, Eli drapes his arm across the back of the couch so David can nestle into the crook of his body. He lays his head on Eli’s shoulder and tangles their feet together. On the TV, a man’s arm is getting ripped off.


	20. Jaydick: Sugar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightwing eats doughnuts on a rooftop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dated: May 7, 2016

Jason jumped down onto the lower roof. He did his best to be quiet, but Dick’s head still swiveled. Dick gave a small wave from where he sat on the ledge, gloved fingers wrapped around a jelly doughnut. An entire box rested beside him, lid flipped open. It was nearly empty.

Jason walked forward. “Have you been doing nothing but scarfing down doughnuts all night?” he asked. He went to remove his helmet, but decided against it and dropped his hands to his sides.

When Dick opened his mouth, Jason could see some pieces of mashed up food. “I’m a cop,” he defended, words stuffed like cotton around the pastry.

Jason stopped in front of him. “You mean you’re a _cliché.”_

Dick popped the last piece of the doughnut into his mouth. He licked off the jelly from his fingers. “A happy cliché. So happy, Jaybird.”

“How do you even stay fit with the sheer quantities of sugar you consume? I don’t even think Tim eats this much. And I’ve seen the toothpick eat two meatball grinders in ten minutes,” compared Jason. When Dick laughed, he said, “That’s not an exaggeration. I _timed_ it. On a dare. You and Tim are going to get fat.”

Dick shrugged. “That’s okay.” He wrapped his legs around Jason’s waist, bringing him closer. Jason leaned forward and placed a hand on either side of the ledge. Dick titled his face upward, as if he might see Jason’s face better through the helmet. His black hair fell into the white lenses of his mask. Jason traced the wings of his mask from the top of his cheekbone to the corner of Dick’s lips. Dick smiled. “Just promise me you’ll still love me when I’m old and chubby,” he joked.

“Nah,” said Jason. He skidded his hands over Dick’s thighs, slipping them underneath. “I think I’ll just dump your body over whatever skyscraper you’re perched on and keep the doughnuts for myself.” As he spoke, he pressed his thumbs into Dick’s skin and gripped him. Clutching Dick’s thighs, Jason dipped him over the ledge. His back was hanging in the air, hundreds of feet above ground.

Dick made a startled noise and surged forward, winding his arms around Jason’s shoulders. “What are you doing? Stop!” he protested.

Jason laughed. “Relax,” he placated, rubbing circles into Dick’s thighs. “I wasn’t going to let you _fall.”_

Dick’s jaw dropped. He looked scandalized. “Dude, _not cool!”_ he informed. But he still held onto Jason.

“Sorry.” Jason dropped his head, letting their foreheads touch. “Thought it was funny.”

Dick twisted his lips, contemplative. “Maybe I can grow, look back on this moment with humor. If it never happens again.”

“How mature of you.”

“Nope.” Dick grabbed the back of Jason’s jacket collar. “Don’t want to hear snark from the man who playfully tried to launch me to my death.”

“Emphasis on the playfully,” Jason interjected.

“Emphasis on the _death.”_ Dick paused in thought. “Also? Emphasis on _launch._ It just has a very strong sound to it. Doesn’t it?”

It did, but Jason wasn’t about to get caught up in Dick’s word games tonight. Though he might try his own. “I could think of better places to launch you onto,” he hinted.

Dick grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “Oh, let me guess. A bed. It’s a bed, isn’t it?”

“Good guess, but _nope.”_ Jason abruptly grabbed Dick’s thighs again and tipped him backwards off the ledge. “It’s another building.”

Dick didn’t react much this time, letting Jason push him over steadily until half his body was suspended in the air. Dick gazed up at him flatly, hair pooling upside down and abs flexing as he helped hold himself up. “You’re an ass, and you’re not going into my doughnut-will if I die.”

“Tragic.” Jason squeezed Dick’s legs, signaling him to sit up. Dick obeyed. He stuck his thumbs under Jason’s helmet.

“Off?” he asked.

Jason took it off and let Dick kiss him, powdered lips and strawberry tongue.


End file.
